We were on Martha’s Vineyard for a family holiday. The local weather was fair enough. But, apparently storms were raging amidst the distant seas.

The waves were fierce, and certainly well represented.

And, there were warning signs (literally).

“Dangerous Waters”

“No Life Guard On Duty”

“Swim At Your Own Risk”

So, naturally I was free swimming amongst the boarders.

The water was chilly (that is how my Nana would have described it). I recall it’s color; gray cast with patch’s of green and black, mixed with foam, made me think of the words anger and foreboding. But, soon enough, that element would best be described as uncompromising or, perhaps exacting that day.

I had an immediate sense of depth, and then vertigo. I had not realized how far I had been pulled out until I really felt the empty cold, huge and vast, lurking beneath my feet. My estimate now is over two hundred meters. I could see the tiny people in the distance on the beach, so very far away, and growing ever smaller (can you grow smaller?), diminished by the mounting abyss. In some distant sort of way I understood I was in trouble. I struck out for the shore with steady strokes, but quickly realized I was not getting anywhere. And, my breathe was getting shorter. Fear?

Most of my life, there has been a central theme around being able to “make it home (this could be an entendre)”.

That was about when the first wave crashed down on me and drove me deep into very cold water. By now I could see Audra Bucklin (Haley Anne and Emma Jo’s God Mother) waving frantically on shore. Fatigue was creeping along my arms — and, my shoulders felt numb. It was hard to breathe as the cold water relentlessly sucked the warmth from my body, pressing on my chest and forcing precious air from my labouring lungs.

Another wave hammered me. No… It presented hell to me in the form of brine and angry froth.

I clawed my way to the surface with the dawning horror that I was not going to make it. I had an image of them pulling me from the waves and laying my slack body at Joanne’s (my baring point) feet.

Determination now? Possibly will – mixed with the shock of understanding I was actually going to die, and I had not expected it to be now.

I grimly dug deeper. I could see a boarder about 50 meters away trying desperately to make his way in my direction. But the undertow was fierce. Troughs created by the waves, powerd by those distant storms were deep. I could see it (the real fear) in his eyes.

Another wave.

I could not breathe. I had lost my barings. I was not going to make it home. It was hopeless. No trite cliche this, I had nothing left, and I was sinking…

…I only asked for courage.

…

Now, I have to face the grim reality that Joanne and I are in our own death spiral now. I am so tired. I can’t fight. I always fight. But, not any more.

I am not going to make it. No barings. And, it’s not the same.

I am not lonely. I have my demons. And, oh, we are dancing.

Ripping What Ever You Like with T.I. (as an aside, this is such an important iTune for a hard run in drizzling rain).

However, all the drama aside, there will alwys be James Taylor with Up on the Roof.

“no body is home”

[…] the act centers me. sometimes waves are big and strong and sometimes they are gentle and calm. a wave can throw us back to the shore or if we are not careful can suck us in. water that were waves have nearly taken me a number of time. here is an example: no body is home – by brian patrick cork […]

What’s All This About?

You'll also learn things about, well, things, like people you need to know about, and information about companies you can't find anywhere else.

So, while I harangue the public in my not so gentle way, you will discover that I am fascinated by all things arcane, curious about those whom appear religious, love music, dabble in politics, loathe the media, value education, still think I am an athlete, and might offer a recipe.

All the while, striving mightily, and daily, to remain a prudent and optimistic gentleman - and, authentic.